


Sparks

by GloriaMundi



Category: Eight Days of Luke - Jones
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-25
Updated: 2010-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brandy in David's glass flickered blue: David could feel the heat from it. This won't hurt, he thought. Luke wouldn't hurt me. He raised the glass to his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

It was 21st December, the winter solstice: the longest night. David lit the three red candles with a single match. Before he'd blown the match out, there were footsteps in the hall and Luke stuck his head round the kitchen door. David grinned at him.

"Luke!" said Astrid cheerfully, toasting him with her sherry. "Glad you could join us! And you can keep David company while I'm out."

Astrid had acquired a new boyfriend while David was away. David wasn't sure how he felt about this, but she seemed happier than she'd been for years.

"You're not leaving yet, are you?" said Luke. "I was looking forward to dinner with both of you."

"As long as you leave some for us," said David. Luke's appetite was ... well, legendary.

It was a pleasant meal. Astrid had learnt to cook properly at last, and David had helped with the pudding. The three of them shared a bottle of wine, and Astrid insisted on pouring them each a glass of brandy. Luke set his alight, blue flames flickering as bright as the lights -- ruby, amber, emerald, sapphire -- on the little Christmas tree, and drank it down. David kept looking at Luke's mouth to see if he'd burnt himself, but of course he hadn't.

The radio was playing softly (David thought it might be Bach) and the sudden sound of a car-horn from outside made them all jump.

"That'll be Nils," said Astrid. "Well, I'll be off. Don't wait up! See you tomorrow." She blushed at Luke's raised eyebrow.

Then they were alone.

"Well," said Luke, and studied his empty plate intently. "It's been a while."

"I'm sorry," said David. "I didn't want to ..." He'd never felt uncomfortable with Luke before: but something was different. _Luke_ was different, and yet utterly unchanged: only with an effort could David remember that summer when they'd first met, when Luke had seemed a boy of no more than fourteen. Luke still looked a year or so older than David. Luke still had flame-red hair and red-gold eyes and an improbable quantity of freckles. Luke still didn't operate by the same rules as anybody else. "I wanted to keep things simple, at uni," said David lamely.

"Don't worry about it," Luke told him. "What're you studying?"

"Medieval history and literature," said David, and half an hour later found that they were talking about Icelandic sagas, a subject which Luke seemed to know inside out.

David didn't want to talk about his course. He poured Luke another glass of brandy, and let himself watch as the brandy flamed against Luke's mouth and left the skin unscathed.

"What does that feel like?"

"Hot," said Luke, and laughed. "Cool. Want to try?"

The brandy in David's glass flickered blue: David could feel the heat from it. This won't hurt, he thought. Luke wouldn't hurt me. He raised the glass to his lips.

Just for a moment the fire felt gentle, licking at him, warm and vivid: then a sudden sting, and it _burnt_. "Fuck!"

The glass rolled, did not break: Luke flung his napkin over the spilt flames, and turned anxiously to David. "Are you ...? No, you're not. Here."

His long-fingered hand was under David's chin, pulling him forward: then his lips were on David's, and David didn't know if this was a kiss or something else. Didn't know whether he was being burnt or being healed. Didn't know, didn't care, leant into Luke's mouth and kissed him back: kissed him.

"Oh," said Luke. "You figured it out." He sounded rather dazed.

"I ... I didn't," said David. His mouth didn't hurt any more, but it _lacked_. He leant forward again, and Luke swayed back, evading him.

David scowled. "There's some mistletoe, if you want to be traditional," he said: and felt cruel for enjoying Luke's flinch.

"What do you want from me?" said Luke. "I'm not --"

"I know what you are," said David. "And I've been thinking about this."

"This?" said Luke, waving his hand between the two of them. "Really?" And _that_ was better: that was the way Luke smiled, fierce and warm and wicked, when he was truly interested in something. David found -- this was not a new discovery -- that he very much wanted Luke to be interested in him.

"You didn't like the flames," Luke said. "Just now. The brandy."

"I liked when you kissed it better," said David boldly. "Remember those sparks you used to do? The doodles?"

"They can burn," said Luke. "If you want them to."

He followed David into his room, shoved David's half-unpacked case off the narrow bed, and stood there as if he were waiting for David to make the first move. Which, knowing Luke and his peculiar code of honour, he probably was.

"Does it help," said David, sliding his hands underneath Luke's t-shirt (it said 'I thrive on chaos') and pressing his mouth against Luke's collarbone, "if I tell you I haven't done this before?"

"Does it help if we pretend I haven't either?" parried Luke. He was grinning at David, that devil-may-care grin that'd presaged so many adventures.

"Not really," said David.

"Look," said Luke. "When I first met you ..." He broke off, raked his fingers through his hair, stared hard at the wall behind David. "When we were knocking about, playing football and stuffing ourselves with ice-cream and --"

"--starting fires," said David, staring hard at Luke's eyes, where tiny flames seemed to dance. He and Luke were the same height now.

"Well, yeah," said Luke, and he looked almost ... abashed. David, feeling vastly more confident, resumed his explorations. "That was all me," said Luke rather unsteadily into David's hair. "I wasn't putting it on. I am what I seem, mostly. Or I can be, when you want me to be."

David pinched the back of Luke's neck, and Luke squirmed and laughed breathlessly, and set about the task of helping David undress them both.

Luke had got over his scruples, or whatever'd made him object to David's kiss. He was, it turned out, freckly all over. David found himself wanting to count and catalogue and kiss all the freckles: there was a lot more he wanted to do, but he didn't exactly know where to start. Luke must've known: he rolled them both over and knelt above David, looking just as fascinated by David's body as David was by his. "Turn the light off," he said.

"Why?" said David, rather disappointed; but he reached over and thumbed the switch.

"So I can do this," said Luke, and where his hands skimmed David's body, they left a trail of blue fire like burning brandy, glowing eerily in the dark room. David couldn't help flinching before his nerves had told his brain that it didn't hurt. There was something weirdly familiar and safe about this heat, like waving your hand through the flame of a Bunsen burner, like the throb of sunburn before you dive into the pool. David was ridiculously turned on by the brief sting of the burn, by the lovely soothing cool of Luke's breath as he took the pain away. He jerked and twisted and practically screamed when Luke's sharp teeth closed gently on his left nipple.

"Too much," decided Luke out loud, and leant back -- David made a protesting noise -- to trail his fingers across David's belly. This time, instead of flames, there were sparks: ruby and amber and emerald and sapphire, some of them hot enough to scorch, some of them cool enough to burn the way that ice does. The smell of burnt hair made David sneeze, and Luke grinned down at him. There was something unnerving about that smile, the pride in it and the twist of wickedness, and for a moment David lost his nerve.

But this was Luke, and he'd never really been frightened of Luke.

David wondered how long it'd been since Luke did this with anybody. He'd been married, hadn't he? And -- but he couldn't think about the Eddas, not now, not with Luke's mouth against his belly-button, lower ...

The sparks were driving David wild: they skittered across his skin, burning and freezing and tingling. He couldn't stop himself flinching and twitching wherever they touched him, and their soft glow was more than enough to show him what Luke was doing with his mouth, and Luke's mouth was hotter than the burning brandy, burning him and healing him and oh god swallowing him down.

When David came his vision filled with sparks, and they were all Luke's doing.

The bedroom smelt of sweat, scorched hair and sex: and Luke was sitting back on his heels, flushed and grinning and messy-mouthed, and David (panting and laughing, feeling as if his blood had turned to liquid fire) wanted to make _him_ burn.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kari for beta!


End file.
